For what did any one emigrate to this colony?
To sweat more? Well, times were hard enough for the poor in old Europe.
Let him sweat more, but for whom? For himself of course, and good luck to him.
Is there not plenty of Victoria land for every white man or black man
that intends to grow his potatoes? Oh! leave the greens-growing to the
well-disposed, to the well affected, ye sturdy sons who pant after
the yellow-boy. "Take your chance, out of a score of shicers, there is one
'dead on it,'" says old Mother Earth from the deep.
Sum total. - With the hard-working gold-digger, there is a solid barter
possible. Hurrah! for the diggers.
'The Argus' persisting in 'our own conceit,' and misrepresenting, perverting,
and slandering the cause of the diggers, ran foul, and went fast to leeward.
Experience having instructed me at my own costs, that there cannot possibly
exist much sympathy between flunkies and blueshirts, I can only guess
at the compound materials hammered in the mortar of 'The Argus' reporter
on Ballaarat: -
lst. The land is the Queen's, and the inheritance of the Crown.
2nd. Who dares to teach the golden-lace the idea how to shoot?
3rd. Let learning, commerce, even manners die, But leave us our old nobility.
